48. Haven’t Read the News Today
HAVEN’T READ THE NEWS TODAY
PRESENT
My Monday classes are exhausting.
It’s the worst part about teaching. Back in the day, when I’d been a mere student, first classes had felt borderline skippable. Show up, half-listen to someone drone on about the syllabus that’s already posted online and grab a coffee with classmates you haven’t seen in a week or two.
Now? The first day of each quarter is always a flood of students trying to get off waitlists, no-shows of kids who decided they wanted an extended spring break, and endless administrative emails.
There are always accidentally not-unlocked classrooms and a flurry of names, résumés, and requests for research, all of which I have no hope of remembering.
When I come home to the apartment, it feels strangely cold, empty.
Gwendy has already texted that she’s extending her visit with her grandmother. I know there’s something happening there, but given she isn’t ready to share the details, there’s only so much I can do.
Daisy is, of course, with Lars in Cambridge.
Which means I not only have the apartment to myself, I may soon be alone. Gwendy’s deciding between jobs, and though one of them allows her to stay in the Los Angeles area, which I know she loves . . . she’s been curiously indecisive.
Because I’ve picked up extra hours tutoring, because Gwendy too didn’t want to get a third roommate, we’ve been okay, just the two of us, but I’ll have trouble maintaining a two-bedroom lease, especially if Harper and Wren need to move in with me.
And really, they can’t move in with me while staying in their school, meaning I’ll have to figure out something . . . better.
I shower and, seeing the flood of new messages from students, decide to turn off my phone and play music through my laptop.
It’s barely five and I’m already too tired to cook.
Instead, I find some ramen and crumble it up in a large salad bowl, putting the seasoning on top, the way Lucas and I used to eat it in the old days.
I stare at the screen, but beyond selecting a playlist, I’m too anxious about my upcoming conversation with Lucas to focus. Still, I’m about to check my phone when there’s a knock on the door.
“You said Tuesday.”
“You shot me in the chest like fifty times—I figure you owe me.”
I motion for him to come in and pass him the bowl of ramen salad.
“Nothing beats MSG and corn-flavored beef.”
“Michelin chefs don’t know what they’re missing,” Lucas deadpans.
We sit on the couch together, awkwardly, as if we didn’t just see each other two days ago.
Lucas tilts his head at me and smiles. “I’m guessing you haven’t read the news today, given you’re not asking me about what happened with my company.”
“I think you’ve already guessed the entire purpose of my sentiment analysis program was to filter Lucas-specific news out.”
“Yes, I guessed.”
Because Lucas is back to his not-talking mode, I take over. “Brody said I should ask you about the note he gave you? Given his unsubtle hint, I’m guessing they weren’t Brody’s notes pre when I met with my father?”
“You know Brody.”
“He never takes notes, I know. But—”
“We see what we want to see sometimes, right?” He takes out his wallet and hands me the coffee-stained note. “It was from our poker game last year.”
Unfolded, it reads:
Dear Lucas Fucking Murray,
You win. I lose.
I owe you big.
Happy?
Insincerely,
Brody the Brodster
P.S. Good luck getting this admitted in court.
“I am very confused. Why did Brody have an IOU he clearly made out to you?”
“He overbet at last year’s tournament. He should have already been out, but he wanted to stay in. I told him it was better to fold, but he was in a stubborn mood, and so I told him to write me an IOU.”
“And then?”
“I gave it back to him a day later. He was sober by then but still pissed and promised he’d find a way to pay it back to me. Something, something, proper way of things. Men’s code. You know Brody.”
I nod. “Meaning you guessed about Tsai Ji Lai? And the investment?”
Lucas shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure until the Akoni astronomy extravaganza.
Given your sisters’ house and my mother’s apartment complex was on the line, I wondered if that would have already been enough, but the way Brody was talking, I knew I had to be missing something.
And the investment piece . . . made sense.
It would have meant you knew I had no way of helping.
Because I would have been underwater too. ”
The longer he speaks, the more monotonous his voice gets, and I realize, finally, that for the first time all week, Lucas has made no move to touch me or hold me. Instead, he’s sitting at the far end of the couch, as if we’re . . . acquaintances.
“So.” Because I know this is a Lucas-approved full sentence and that he’s not done with his thought, I twist my hands together and wait. “I made a large stock donation that was announced today.”
“Okay.”
“To be fair, I told the lawyers it should have technically been a sale, because you were an original investor, but due to legalese I didn’t have the patience for, they assured me it would be easiest as a gift.”
“I wasn’t an original investor.” The original ones were Tsai Ji Lai. Yossef Romani. Steve Davenport.
“Actually, you were the first investor.”
Lucas waits for me to get there, and it doesn’t take long. “That doesn’t count.”
“You brought me from zero to $1,578. That’s like an infinite increase.”
“Because you started at zero.” My mind is spinning, because for it to be a gift that had to be declared through lawyers, to be big enough Lucas would think I might have read about it in the news . . .
“Before the gift, I owned twenty percent of the company; now I’m at two percent.”
“I own more than you do.” It’s a statement. Apparently, a fact.
“You gave me over ninety percent of your net worth at the time. I thought I’d return the favor. Brody owns two percent free and clear as well, by the way.”
I swallow, because I’ve never actually looked it up, but 18 percent of Lucas’s company . . .
“I also finalized proceedings on our takeover of your father’s company.”
I blink.
“That part I’d started beforehand. His assets have dwindled over the years, too many bets that didn’t pay off, and it’s his own damned fault for not selling me the apartment complex when I asked. This way, you’re free of him. Completely.”
“I never told you about the job offer.”
“Yes, but your father, it turns out, has no respect for American NDAs. He filled in all the missing details.”
The only thing I can think to say is, “I don’t want to run your company.”
Lucas smiles, though it’s back to that faint twisting of his lips, the one that’s masking other emotions. “The stock is separate from my position. I plan on staying on as CEO unless and until you convince my board I’m incompetent.”
We’re silent together for a moment. Lucas, because he’s likely said most of what he meant to, and me, because my brain is whirring, processing.
“You sound . . . sad,” I say, finally.
“And angry.” Lucas looks up, his gaze meeting mine. “I don’t know whether I could have come up with a better plan six years ago. But you should have let me try.”
I open my mouth, but for once, it’s Lucas who stops me. He raises his hand to signal, No, I’m not done.
“I also don’t know what, exactly, is happening with your health.
I was worried it was cancer, until I saw the rash—” Lucas pauses and glances over.
Even with his shirtsleeves pushed up and without glasses, there’s something faintly professorial about him.
“We’ve spent nearly every night together this past week, and you’re a deep sleeper.
Even with the lights and the positions, it was only a matter of time, Lorelai.
” He takes a deep breath. “The internet and my concierge doctor agree that it’s likely lupus or some other autoimmune disorder.
But again, whatever it is, you should have told me, should have allowed us the chance to be in this together.
” He’s still looking at his clasped hands, and his voice breaks slightly, but he continues.
“I was young and stupid and it was after sex, but I meant what I said. Then and now. I love you. You’re it. My endgame. Gravity.”
I’m crying now, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
“But you’re going to have to decide whether that’s enough.
Because none of this matters if you don’t let me in.
My feelings are my own, independent of what you decide, just as the stock is yours, free and clear.
Still, wouldn’t it be nice if you let me be your partner? If you let us build a life together?”